


The Danger of Curiosity

by Gambler



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amortentia, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Bottom Tom Riddle, Choking, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Possessive Behavior, Professor Harry Potter, Riddle at Hogwarts Era, Rough Sex, Teenage Tom Riddle, Time Travel, Top Harry, Unhealthy Relationships, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gambler/pseuds/Gambler
Summary: Professor Potter makes an observation of a prank, but things escalate quicker than he expects.It's a story about a man struggling in his dilemma and a boy obsessing over him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 45
Kudos: 403





	1. The danger of curiosity

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Predilection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932378) by [Mongruad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mongruad/pseuds/Mongruad). 



> Both Harry and Tom will be under the influence of potions in this work, so their actions and decisions may not be entirely reliable.

At first it's just curiosity. 

Harry is on the way back to his quarter when he sees two students standing in a derserted corridor, discussing something. 

He has no interest in eavesdroping on teenage affairs, but a name catches his attention. 

"Riddle..."

Harry's interest perks up. Swiftly casting a _disillusionment_ on his body then a _silencio_ to conceal footsteps, he walks closer to the pair. 

Up close, he recogonizes them as Gimson and Keven, two sixth year Gryffindores in his Defense class. They haven't done too poorly in academics, but being a pair of trouble makers it's not rare for them to be found in detentions. For the brief time as temporary DADA professor, Harry has already had the pleasure to assign the boys a detention once. 

And now they are planning another prank. Usually their targets are pureblood Slytherins, who sneer down 'blood-traitor' and 'filthy mudblood' at them. Yet today the half-blood (or in some people opinions a muggleborn) Slytherin prefect is at the end of their ire. As Harry listens, he understands the reason. 

'Ah, jealousy,' Harry muses. It seems young Keven's crush, a girl that reminds Harry profoundly about Lavender is infatuated with Riddle. They are going to humiliate Riddle in front of the girl and in consequence shatter her fantasies. 

Being a professor, he knows what he is required to do. He should reveal himself and delinquent the pranksters. However, their method of implement greatly interests him. They plan to dose Riddle with Amortentia, the strongest love potion which can creat an irresistible obsession for the digester. Harry will not approve such malicious prank if their intended is not Riddle. As it is, his curiosity wins over morality. There has never been any records of what influence Amortentia will have on a child conceived under the potion. Now as the opportunity presents itself, he has more reasons to take it than not to. 

Harry wants nothing more than Riddle's sufferings, to cleanse this vermin before it can inflict the world any harm. Regretfully, his hands are bound. He is not a young hero who will sacrifice everything without a second thought anymore. He has his life—a career, a wife and most importantly an unborn child—to consider. He yearns to return to them, so what if he needs to suppress his burning hate and anger, to force himself to sit as a passive observer in order to preserve the time line? He will do anything for a chance back to home. 

It doesn't stop him to pull strings in the background though. As history can right itself if not be pushed too hard, he figures as trivial as a result of pranking will not ruin his chance of returning to home. It's a pity the disappearance of a budding dark lord does not count as 'trivial', so he will satisfy himself with petty revenges like denigrating Riddle's reputations and using the Slytherin as a potion experiment's subject. 

Gimson and Keven are clever, but they can hardly compare to Riddle. Harry suspects on the original timeline they had failed spectacularly and been humiliated by the Slytherin instead. Harry needs to help them if he wants any success in this experiment. 

Harry manages to get a tube of Felix Felicis from Slughorn, saying he'd like to award the student who does best in his next class. Of course he has no intention of doing that. He calls one of Hogwarts' house elves to deliver the potion together with a scrip written _'Help from a friend'_ to either Keven or Gemini. Knowing those two, they will not be too suspicious and just think they are lucky. 

Then he waits. 

~&~

He doesn't know when exactly did the boys carry out their plan, but judging from the annoyances and disappointment written across their faces, they must have already done it and probably think they've failed. 

Harry knows better. Riddle is anything but forgiving. Whoever has wronged him will likely get a far worse revenge from the vicious Slytherin. The continued health of the two pranksters is enough telling of their success. 

They just assume Riddle will behave like any other ones under love potion, love-struck and making a fool of himself. Harry himself is a little disappointed that Riddle has again failed to fall under the category of normalcy. If only his behaviors are similar to everyone else under the potion, Harry can take immense amusement in Riddle's mortification.

Riddle acts the same as his usual self, a polite if not a bit distant model student. For the general group of Hogwarts residents, they will find nothing abnormal about the prefect. But Riddle's friends, or one can say the earliest followers must have noticed his sudden interest in a certain professor. 

Harry can admit it's a flaw in his part for not forseeing the person Gimson and Keven would choose as the target of Riddle's fixation. They want to humiliate Riddle, in public and with the girl present, so what better candidates than a professor? Harry guesses since he's only a substitution the boys will think they can get away eaiser when he finds out about the truth. 

Now Riddle is casting sideways glances at the head table again. Most will not notice and for the ones aware of this behavior, they will assume Riddle is looking at Albus, as the passive hostility between the two is an open secret among professors. Yet Harry observes far more glances from Riddle when he is sitting beside the auburn haired professor than the time he's not. The only other one realizes this appearance is Albus Dumbledore. 

"Be careful, my friend." Among noises in the Great Hall, Albus addresses him with a barely audible voice, a pensive expression on the much younger face comparing to the wrinkled one in Harry's memory. "Mister Riddle has a tendency to be obssessive. I fear he may find something he should not know when he looks too close."

"I understand, Albus. Don't worry." Harry dips his head. 

Harry knows what Albus thinks. He thinks Riddle is getting suspicious, and he worries about the potential uncovery of Harry's identity. Although the truth is much simpler, Harry has no intention of telling his once mentor it. He is not fond of a moral debate with the man whose morality is dubious for the best. 

He just needs to be careful. Harry is irritated to be dragged into the sportlight, under the constant scrutinizing of a mass murder in making. He much prefers to stay in the background and observe Riddle from afar, in case he snaps and does something he will regret. But damn him if he's not stubborn. 

He has never backed down from a challenge, and he won't start now. 

~&~

There's a knock at the door. 

"I'm sorry to disturb your rest, sir." Riddle's voice comes from the other side of the wooden panel. "But I wonder if you can help me with something."

Harry puts down the papers he has just corrected. "You disturbed nothing, Mister Riddle. Please come in."

At Harry response, the door opens allowing the Slytherin to enter. 

Riddle's presence is becoming familiar in his office. The boy usually chooses to stop at his office in times when no other ones are around. He certainly abuses his duty as a prefect, for visits to Restricted Section before and chats with his Defense professor now. 

"What can I help you this time, Mister Riddle?" Leaning back against his chair, Harry peers at the dark haired teen. 

"You see, professor," Riddle begins, "I was doing my patrols when I discovered a student wandering around. Of course I deducted points and reminded him no strolls after curfew, but a trinket I confiscated from him rose my interest. I wonder if you know what it is." At this, Riddle uncurls his left palm, a small glass ball with pinkish clouds swirling inside sitting in the middle. 

Harry raises an eyebrow. "And you come to me instead of your head of house because...?"

"It's simply because your office is closer, sir," Riddle states innocently. 

Harry doesn't believe him, but his expression betrays nothing on his mind. He is about to ask Riddle to put the trinket on his table for further examinations, when the ball drops from the teen's palm and hits the ground abruptly.

Pink smokes escape from shattered glasses, assaulting Harry before he manages to put up any protections. He coughs as smokes engulf him, alarms ringing shrilly in his head when he realizes what they are. 

"I'm so sorry, Professor Potter! Are you alright?" 

Harry wants to laugh at the concern in Riddle's voice. It sounds so genuine, and Harry will believe if he doesn't know what the boy really is, and what he has just done. 

'A _fucking_ gasified lust potion.' Harry grasps at the edge of the office table, teeth gritting, fastly failing to reign in his arousal and anger. He has thought the boy would strike at some point, but he hasn't thought the move would be so bold. 

Or should he? After all, the open of The Chamber is not subtle the least bit. And why won't the boy use a simple yet immoral way to get what he wants? Merope has succeeded before, like mother, like son. 

"You don't look so well, sir." The boy's voice is still full of concern, but hungers in his eyes betray his thoughts. "Do you want me to help you, professor?"

Harry finally loses control. Waves of pure magical power breaks out from the wizard, shattering mirrors and cracking windows. The teen is caught off guard when the power slams him into a nearby wall and pins him there. Tom's eyes widen. 

"Let this be a lesson, Riddle." Putting the yew wand summoned from Tom's right hand in a warded drawer, Harry strides to the pinned young man. Cold fury blazes in emerald eyes as he glowers at the boy, who in turn stares back defiantly. "Be careful when playing with fire, or you shall be burned."

"You are powerful. Why did you hide it?" Despite in a relatively powerless situation, there is no fear in those dark brown eyes, only challenges. A smirk creeps on the still boyishly handsome face and high cheek bones. "Or do you feel empowered, professor, to see all the plebians around being fooled by you? I can't deny there are pleasures in it." 

Harry's hands shot up to grip at the pale neck. Tom's breath hitches when his windpipes are constricted and air supplies are cut off. "Don't pretend you know me, Riddle," Harry hisses beside the teen's ear. He can feel the body struggling beneath him, the involuntary spasms caused by lack of air, so he alleviates enough strength for the boy to breath but doesn't loose it up entirely. "You want to help me?" he growls. "Then let me fuck you like the whore you are!"

Tom snarls. Shattered glasses, candlesticks and any tiny things with a pointed edge shot at Harry, but the wizard blocks them with a strong Protego. Every time Tom tries to fight off the power pinning him down, Harry tightens his grip in warning. If the boy doesn't stop, he will press at Tom's throat until the boy's eyes are glazed, and struggles become weaker. In a few more years, when the teen becomes a man and grows significantly in magic power, the deeds will not be done so easily. Now though, Harry sizes the domination. 

With a flick of wand, he vanishes Tom's clothes. The teen stiffens. The beginning of anxiousness seeps into the glares he sends to Harry. 

"Hah," looking down at Tom's hard member, Harry snorts, "I thought you fought because you hated this. It seems the contrary is true."

"You choked me," Tom accuses in indignation, voice raspy from the tough treatments. "It's a normal phenomenon when human bodies lack oxygen—"

The end of sentence dies in a scream as Harry shoves two long fingers roughly into Tom's tight arse. He'd like to take the boy raw if not for the fact the action will be quite unpleasant for him too. 

"I'll skip foreplays. They are insignificant when your pleasures hold no importance to me," Harry announces coldly while spreading his fingers as wide as he can, earning him a pained yawl. From the pressures his fingers meet, he suspects it's Tom's first time for anal sex. Harry is not surprised at all. He can't envision a man hates weakness as much as Tom Riddle to willingly submit to his followers. 

Tom's eyes are squeezed shut. Dark brows press tightly together in a deep furrow. Beads of sweat soak his forehead, streaming down from flushed cheeks to the tip of nose and clenched teeth. Tiny wimpers and supressed groans emits from slightly parted lips between pants. Those pinned hands are balled in fists, clutching and unclutching with the prob of Harry's fingers. Harry imagines that it's quite painful for a novice to experience such handling. Yet he can't summon a single sympathy for the boy who will undoubtedly do the same or worse if their positions are reversed. 

Without warning, he shoves in a third finger. In spite of the teen's best efforts to stay in control, Tom's mouth hangs open, and a strangled moan escapes his throat. Harry can feel muscles cramping around his fingers, lithe legs quivering in the inability to move. 

"You know, you brought this to yourself." Harry keeps pumping the abused hole, and though he has claimed to have no regard to Tom's pleasures, the occasional brushes against the boy's prostate are rewarded with high pitched keens. The mortification in Tom's eyes afterwards fuels Harry's lust like oils pouring into fire. He is hard as steel, and he may destroy his office if he doesn't get to fuck this awful young man now. 

"Would you have...let me fuck you...had I asked nicely?" Tom gasps between moans, sighing in disappointment when Harry extracts his fingers. He quickly shuts his mouth as he realizes what he's doing. 

"No," Harry replies curtly. He frees his cock from his robes, which has an angry red color and is dripping with precome. The pinned teen eyes it with no small amount of trepidation. "But it wasn't an enough reason to attempt rape."

Tom relaxes his head against the wall as much as he can, trying to calm his uneven breaths. Harry liberates the teen's legs and lifts the pale slim shanks to rest on his shoulders. Tom's body is bent in half; this position puts most of the boy's weights on his hips, so with trapped arms he won't be able to do a thing when Harry pounds him into oblivion. Harry sees the comprehension in Tom's eyes, but again they are mixed with defiances and challenges. It seems he and the teenage dark lord have stubbornness in common. 

"What makes you better than me?" Tom exhales in a shuddering breath when Harry puts the tip of his cock at the teen's swollen entrance. His lips curl up in mockery. "You enjoyed my pain, and you will keep enjoying it. We are not that different."

"I said," Harry snarls, "don't _fucking_ pretend to know me." With this, He drives into the pert young wizard in one go. Tom cries out, head throwing back and banging on the wall with a heavy thud. Long nails dig into magenta wallpapers, leaving behind trails of white scratches. Harry will worry about the damages later because he can't think straight with how tight and warm and perfectly fitting Tom's inside is. He swears when the soft hot passage clenchs around his shaft, and he will lose right there if not for the potion. Harry grits teeth and pushes, until the last bit of his cock sinks in, until he can feel the ring of muscles trembling against his bollocks. 

Tom's chest is heaving erratically, mouth wide open in gasps and eyes glittering with tears in the corners. Harry takes no pity. He grabs the thin waist as leverage to push all the way out, only to slam right in hard with a punishing speed. Tom yells, and then moans loudly, unable to stop the sounds coming out when Harry pummels him mercilessly and chases his own pleasure without care. Tom's folded body bounces with every thrust from the cock pounding deeply into him. His legs will jerk up as a particularly hard thrust nails his prostate, and Harry imagines the soles of Tom's feet arching up and toes curling in the air. And the _wails_. The boy will awake all the residents in Hogwarts if there are no silencing charms around professors' quarters for how _loud_ he is. 

Tom is tossing his head from side to side, mewling and mumbling "professor–" or "sir–" incoherently. Harry will ram down more brutally if he hears his own name, making the moans turn into screams and the boy unble to recall the syllabus. And Tom is still so _fucking hard_. His erection hasn't died once even when his body was shivering in pain, and now the head of his cock is twitching and leaking as pleasures seep into his whines and keens, sliding against Harry's robed chest and leaving stains of precome on the cloth. Harry doesn't know if it's a side effect of the love potion or if the boy is really such a slut. The thought of the teenage dark lord secrectly being a masochist drives him wild. 

And yet he still doesn't come. Harry growls, cursing the blasted lust potion. He wants nothing more than to come, to relieve his frustration and arousal and anger into the terrible boy growing up to destroy his life. He sees the ring of bruises on the exposed neck, moving with glidings of adam's apple, and suddenly has an impulse. One of his hands lets go of Tom's waist, lifting up to close around the bruises, and squeezes. 

He immediately feels Tom's inside tightening around him and sighs in contentment. Tom is shouting something, legs flailing and trying to kick him. Harry ignores it. He only cares for the divine heat squeezing him, milking him, which will bring him to ecstatic completion. He puts more strength into his grip, squelching unrelentingly, until the boy's jaw slackens, eyes glazing over, and a stream of saliva drools down from wide parted lips to Harry's hands and forearms. 

Somewhere the flailings have stopped. Those long legs are limp and hanging uselessly on Harry's shoulders, swaying up and down with each thrust like a lifeless toy. Tom's whole body is shaking uncontrollably, mouth open yet with no sound coming out, helplessly gaping for air that refuses to be tugged into the scragged throat. Tears fall freely from glassy eyes that are losing focus with each second. For a fleeting second Harry feels as if Tom's gaze is trained on him, looking directly into him, before the boy's eyes roll back to his head and comes all over them. 

A feral groan is torn from Harry when Tom's inside convulses with each wave of orgasm, clutching and compressing his length ruthlessly, and those frictions finally tip him over the edge. Harry comes harder than he has in all of his life. He buries his head at the crook of the boy's neck and pants through his orgasm, feeling thoughts getting clearer as he comes down from the high, and reliazes—

—what the _fuck_ has he done? He should have pushed the boy out of his office the moment he inhaled the smokes. Instead he has let anger, hate and sexual drive lead his actions, throwing rational thoughts in the wind and yielding to his primal needs. 

"Shit!" Harry curses, feeling so angry with himself. He starts to regret his decision of carrying out the experiment all together. He should have just stayed far away from Riddle and none of these would have happened. Now, he has so much to fix. 

He extracts from Riddle's semen dripping hole and frees the boy from the wall, who slumps forward into Harry's arms without resistance. There are bruises all over the teen's back and lower parts of abdomen, but the most prominent ones are on his neck, standing in drastic contrast with the light skin. Harry unintentionally holds breath as he touches Riddle's neck, and he sighs in relief when he feels steady pulse under fingertips. At least things are not unsalvageable. 

He carries the unconcious teen to the couch and lies him down. He will have to erase Riddle's memory of the whole encounter later, but firstly he needs to handle the bruises. There mustn't be a single trace left behind. Harry grimaces as he recalls Voldemort's masterful Mind Arts while pointing his wand at Riddle to cast a healing spell. He hopes this younger version will be easier, because if not the only one he can turn for help is Albus, and he doesn't want the man to find out what kind of savage Harry is. 

The spell hits Riddle. Nothing happens. Harry tries again, and receives the same result. His heart drops, but tries the third, the fourth, and is about to utter the words for the fifth time when a voice calls him from the couch. 

"It won't work." Riddle's voice is hoarse and weak, and he is still naked with all the evidence of been ravaged, but somehow none of the vulnerability he should feel shows on the tear-stained face. He looks smug, like a man who has just successfully implemented his plan. The corner of his vulgar mouth that was moaning and screaming only minutes ago turns up into a complacent smile. "I ensured it before coming today, that only I would be able to remove any wounds on my body. See how right the decision had been."

Harry stares at Riddle in disbelief, the boy who he has felt slightly guilty to just a moment ago. A horrified realization draws on him. 

"You planned this all along," Harry states quietly, face blank but fists clenching with anger boiling up in his chest. "You hadn't intended to rape me; it had been the other way around from the beginning. You drugged me, but disguised it as an accident, so the authorities wouldn't believe a word from me even if they saw the memory. And nobody would agree to dose the poor, violated orphan with veritaserum, wasn't it? I would be striped from my position and tossed into Azkaban in no time. If I don't want all that to happen—" Harry exhales and inhales slowly, taking a calming breath, and smiles bitterly—"I'll have to yield to your demands. What a crazy blackmailing plan, I'm almost impressed, Riddle."

Riddle laughs, huskily and breathily, and Harry only feels his disgust for the devil in disguise of a boy grows. 

"You think so highly of me, sir," Riddle says between chuckles. "Of course I haven't planned every detail. At first I just wanted an answer. I have been curious about you from the moment you took Marrythoughts' place, and the curiosity only grows in time. The way you look at me, sir, have you noticed? They are like _Fiendfyre_ , burning me, devouring me, comsuming me, until not even an ash of me remans. How can I refuse an invitation like that?" 

The hungers from before return to Riddle's eyes, and now Harry can see they are not lust. They are the same hungers Harry has seen in a boy with the same dark brown eyes under the ground of Hogwarts in his second year. 

"You are an enigma." Riddle's gaze is glued on him, desires swirling at the bottom of dark eyes. "I will not stop before solving you."

Harry has made a grim mistake, a common one when adults are dealing with minors. He has underestimated Riddle. As impossibly as it sounds, he did think Riddle, a child barely out of school, lesser than the experienced dark lord he has fought. How careless has he been. He has forgotten what a perceptive child Riddle was even at eleven, and his perceptiveness can only grow with age. 

It seems Albus has been right from the start. It hasn't been Amortentia to arise Riddle's interest in him. Thinking back, Harry suspects the reason why the pranksters has succeeded at all is that Riddle has already been obsessed with the potion's target, so he hasn't noticed any sudden difference after drinking it. It only strengthens Riddle's obsessions until he comes up with such crazy idea to achieve his purpose. 

"And what did you find, should I ask?" Harry inquires, dreading the answer. He has a gut's feeling he won't like what he'll hear. 

"Oh, you are even more powerful than I thought." Riddle smirks. "And violent. You are filled with so much anger, suppressing it under a calm, detached facade. I want to rip your mask out to see the wild creature underneath, so I've improved the lust potion to loose your hold on your mind and magic." A spidery index finger lifts up to caress the bruises around the pale neck. "And what a _feral beast_ I saw,'" he purrs, rolling the words on his tongue like savouring a dainty. Harry hates how the boy calls him, but his dick gives an interested twitch at the movement. 

Riddle's eyebrows draw together in a slightly troubled furrow. "I usually hate to be reduced to powerlessness, but today hasn't been entirely unpleasant...I hasn't deduced the reason yet, but you know, there are possibilities of a reappearance should I see fitting. In exchange—" his expression shifts back to smirk again—"I wonder what you'll tell me, time traveller."

That's where the dreadfulness comes from. Harry remembers the brief eye contact before both off them tripped over the edge, and realizes there must be when Riddle casted legilimency. Any other time Harry would have noticed and stopped the intrusion. Only when his thoughts were shuttered to incoherency and protections were significantly weakened, Riddle was able to seize the chance. Harry doubts the boy has seen much for the state he was in, but even a glimpse would give him enough intuition to dig further. 

And Harry can't back down, because Riddle has every intention to make the blackmail come true if he refuses. However, two can play the same game. Riddle thinks he has all controls in their little agreement, and Harry is going to prove him wrong. He will never underestimate Riddle again. The boy can fish for information as he likes, but meanwhile Harry gets an opportunity to have a closer contact to Riddle's mind, to understand it, and he will strike when he has prepared. The Slytherin's arrogance will again be his downfall. 

He will find the spell to eliminate the bruises on Riddle's body and a way to obliviate the boy, and he will make sure Riddle suffers along the way. If history doesn't right itself, then he will right it himself. 

Thus, Harry schools his expression into a polite, heatless smile. "It seems I have no other choices. Let us play your game then, shall we? But remember this, Riddle—" he leans forward, lips ghosting over the boy's earlobe, and whispers—"when I come out at the top, **you will pay**. "

Riddle only laughs harder this time, breathlessly. "Oh my dear professor," he breaths, arms tightening around Harry's waist in an unrelenting, possessive clinch, "I'll never let you go."


	2. A lesser evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is struggling with new realizations of himself, and Tom keeps pushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @Mongruad for helping me to arrange my thoughts and musings! Without you there will so many loose ends in the plot. As @Mongruad helpfully pointed out, some people may not feel enthusiastic about the magic and aura thing, and I apologize for that. I put these elements here for a reason, so if you can bear with me, please do know that in my limited ability I'm trying to bring all my audiences an enjoyable read. :)

Riddle's gaze follows him everywhere. 

If Harry was uncomfortable before, he is restless now. 

He would have gratefully ignored it, pretending nothing illicit had happened between the boy and him, if not for the deliberate lingering of Riddle's fingers to a place where the evidences of Harry's misdeeds lie concealed. 

Whenever Riddle catches Harry's glance, he smiles the artificial smile of his, and crooks his neck in just the right angle to expose silk skins. An index finger lifts up to put on lips as in thoughts, yet wandering a bit too long around the glamored throat. 

_"It's a collar,"_ Riddle had said that day in his office before applying glamors on the bruises. _"It may be on my body, but I will be the one holding the tether, and you will be the one tethered to me."_

Harry hates the truth held in that statement. He hates more when his traitorous apparatus betrayed him after hearing Riddle's words. 

Despite having promised himself to flip the power scale, he has yet had the opportunity to corner Riddle. The Slytherin is slippery. He will give the boy that, though he expects nothing less from a person who has been dancing around Albus Dumbledore's watchful eyes for six years. 

There are always eager ones seeking answers after class, when he is about to ask Riddle to stay behind. Harry knows some of them are Riddle's followers, no doubt intending to block his path to their leader, but he takes his teaching too seriously to cast them aside. He had enjoyed teaching his peers in fifth year, and had often considered the possibility of teaching Defense in Hogwarts after retiring from Auror office. He hadn't thought his wish would be granted in the most ludicrous way at the time. Fate does always like to toy with him. 

Harry's patience is wearing thin with each futile attempt, from holding the teen after class to 'accidently' encountering him in night's patrols. Riddle seems content to watch Harry squirm in frustration. His thoughts about Riddle, about what he wants to do to the smirk face, turn more violent as days pass. Even in his ire clouded mind, Harry is appalled by the sceneries his vivid imaginations present him. He was horrified that day after Riddle's departure, after he had calmed down, as he realized he held no remorse for what he had done to the boy. Worse, he had enjoyed it to a degree he was not prepared to admit. He had felt miserable after cutting open Draco's chest, and then vowed to never indulge in unnecessary violence again. Riddle had broken that resolve with high pitched laugh and a modulated lust potion. 

_'It's the potion still in your system.'_ He had tried to console himself. Now he knows it has only been a delusion. Yes, he wants Riddle to suffer. Riddle deserves to pay for his crimes, but Harry has thought he only carries righteous anger. The genuine enjoyment in such acts throws him off guard. He wonders why Voldemort always brings the worst out of him. The Horcrux is not in him anymore. 

Or is that the process of killing a person by destroying his soul again and again? Has he developed a morbid fascination with Voldemort's death and fears? Harry has always thought his last duel with Voldemort was a necessity, that he hadn't felt guilty for the man's death then because it was what he was burdened with. Recent events open his eyes for more interpretations. Harry contemplates the emotions winding in his chest when the green beam hit the snake-like face, scarlet eyes widening in fear. He recalls the screams from a boy when he pierced the diary viciously, black ink smearing everywhere. 

Harry struggles and seethes, unable to make a peace with himself.   
All the while Riddle watches like a hawk, with eyes full of greediness. 

  
~&~

"You are troubled."

Harry sighs. How much will he pay for Albus to not easily see through him? 

"Yes," he admits, putting the steaming tea cup on the table between them. The Deputy Headmaster has just come back from the Ministry, looking worn and tired, but he is observant as ever. 

"Don't fret to spill then. You troubles are no small matters." Albus's eyes hold kindness, though his voice is grim as if he is expecting a conformation for his suspicion. 

Harry gnaws at his bottom lip, wavering. Then deciding hiding an issue that has already been addressed is futile, Harry chooses bluntness. 

"Riddle knows," he says with no small amount of chagrin, bitter taste of failures on his tongue. "I can't tell you how, but he does. I apologize for not hearing your warnings earlier. "

"As I had worried." Albus doesn't look surprised, only nodding in solemn acknowledgement. "You don't have to condemn yourself too much, my friend. You are more familiar with the Tom in the future than this child I've taught for six years."

Harry doesn't say anything. For what can he say, when he knows Albus Dumbledore, as much as he loves the man, is a vulture no better than Riddle when prying for information? 

"What do you suggest, then?" After a moment of silence, Harry inquirers, bringing the tea cup up to take a sip. 

Albus wears his usual pensive expression. His eyes aren't twinkling. Harry wonders if he takes up the eccentricity as a front only after the war. 

"I heard," Albus begins, "some of Tom's friends are very worried about him."

Harry's knuckles tighten around cup handle. He immediately understands the implication. 

He remembers that boy, who has the same name and striking resemblances to the Theodore Nott he knows. He and Theodore were only acquaintances, and Harry knows this Nott, Theodore's grandfather must have been an early member of Knights of Walpurgis. Nevertheless nostalgia rises in him when he looks at Nott, who eyes Riddle with authentic concern, who bites the inside of his cheeks when meeting Harry's gaze, questions on his lips yet unable to ask within others' companies. Riddle must have forbidden them to speak further. 

"I'm a professor. Even a temporary one as I am, I cannot in good conscious use my students as tools to do my bidding," Harry answers firmly, looking pointely at his once mentor. 

"And yet, you have a different standard when it comes to Tom," Albus states calmly and peers back. 

Really, Harry should not be surprised the man knows everything. 

"You are the Gryffindor's Head of House, of course you would have noticed," Harry murmurs. "Why didn't you stop them then? Why did you let this happen?"

"Pranking is in their nature. I hadn't thought at the time it would escalate to a serious issue. "

Perhaps just like two sides of a coin, Harry has known Albus long enough to sense a lie. 

"No, you knew what the potion was, and who it keyed to, and yet you let it happen." The fine china in Harry's hand cracks. He will have to apologize later. "You are curious, aren't you? Wondering if there is love in a boy who has already killed, wondering if he can be redeemed. You must have taken notice of my hatred towards him, and you've drawn your own conclusion. You fear your worst speculation about Riddle comes true in my future."

"Listen, Harry—"

"Cease your excuses!" Harry interrupts and stands up as the ugly head of anger raises itself in his chest. "A traveler out of time is never important to you, not enough to deviate you from the path of Greater Good. You will gladly sacrifice a whole future and its people for the notion." 

Harry's emotions are getting out of control. Cracking sound of porcelain can be heard from the table, but Albus makes no move to stop it. He merely sits there, aged significantly by tiredness written in dark circles and creases around eyes, and Harry suddenly feels guilty all over. 

"I—" Harry stutters, unsure of what to say. He can feel he's not calm enough to have further discussions, so he hastily retreats to the threshold. He doesn't want to break Albus's office in his rage again. Looking back, Harry sees a man worn down by war and fate, and his heart aches at the sight. 

"Good night, Albus. I'm sorry," he mutters an apology and rushes out. 

  
~&~

'Have I been too selfish?'

Harry asks himself, staring up at starry sky. 

He wandered around corridors without destination, deep in thoughts, but his feet automatically carried him up stairs, to a place filled with both joyful and sorrowful memories. 

He remembers Ron's laughter and complains about the late class, while Hermione chided them to concentrate. 

He remembers fooling around with Ginny, soft lips against his in a light kiss under constellations. 

He remembers Snape's hands on his mouth, as he screamed and struggled under invisible cloak, watching in desperation when Albus was engulfed by chilling green and fell off the edge. 

"Am I too selfish?" he murmurs to the stars, though he knows he won't get an answer. 

Sirius shines brightly on the night canopy as if looking at him knowingly. Harry wraps his fingers more tightly around the railings. 

He has avoided thinking too deeply into his dilemma, content to immerse himself in his nostalgia. The conversation with Albus today has brought back buried doubts and guilt. 

Harry really shouldn't have yelled at the man, redirecting the frustration caused by Riddle to him. Albus is right in his speculation after all. Riddle will arise as a dark lord and throw Britain into the pit of a civil war. Harry's parents, their friends and Albus himself will all lose their lives in the madness. Countless children will fall victim. Harry himself, though he hadn't been able to admit in his youth, has been a victim of the war. That's why he has done the best in his ability to provide his orphaned godson a happy childhood. That's why he vows to be a good father. 

And that's where his dilemma lies. 

Harry won't blink an eye if only his life will be sacrificed. _What is one life comparing to countless others?_ The Pensieve Albus had said. Harry has already made his decision when he willingly took the killing curse in forbidden forest. 

But what will become of his son then? After he gets rid of the teenage dark lord and rots away in Azkaban, will his son disappear with the rest of the original timeline, without even a glimpse of the world people having fought to keep? 

He recalls the immense happiness he felt hearing the news. 

_"I will be the best father ever!" Harry can't help the silly grin widening on his face. "I'll spoil him. I'll give him the world!"_

_Ginny rolls her eyes, hands on hips in feigned exasperation. "So I'll be the tiger mother while you are the kind and loving father? Such schemer to win all of our child's love aren't you?"_

_Harry giggles, putting a hand on the small bump on Ginny's belly, and kisses her smiling mouth deeply. "Even if you are a tiger mother, you'll be the best tiger mother."_

The memory hurts. Harry wipes the wetness out of his eyes, telling himself the autumn wind is too cold and strong. 

He has accused Albus of discarding the people in his future, but how could he? When he decides to be a bystander, knowing people are walking into their death yet taking no action, all for a chance for his son to be born, won't he be committing a bigger sin? 

He wishes he can treat the matter more objectively, so he'll realize an unborn child can't hold a candle to thousands of lives. But he can't, not when the sacrificial lamb will be his son. Harry is not Themis, Lady Justice. He can't put lives on a scale to be weighed. He doesn't want to. 

Footsteps sound behind him. Dark, sweet aura swirls in the air, and Harry recognizes its owner at once. 

"Finally stopped avoiding me?" Harry asks and turns around. 

Shadows casted by pillars shading his body, slim and wrapped in black and silver, Riddle stands there with an alluring smile, like an incubus strolling into one's dream to claim his prey. 

"Why, professor—" Riddle takes a few steps toward Harry, pale face touched softly by starlight, a veil of mystery woven around him—"I was waiting for you to sedate so we can hold a civil conversation."

Harry is glad for his position, silhouetted against the milky way, so Riddle won't get the satisfaction of seeing his face briefly contorting in anger before smoothing out into blankness. 

"Funny, I get the impression you were purposely riling me up." Harry squints at the approaching teen. "Or are you saying it's merely coincidence that your friends would suddenly take an interest in my teaching whenever I intended to reach you after class?" 

He forces his body to relax against the railings when Riddle comes to stand beside him, arms resting on the iron balustrades and upper body leaning forward across the edge. Harry itches to push, to watch Riddle fall like his mentor did. He refrains himself. 

"You are a good teacher," Riddle replies, eyes casting up at the starry heaven. "Why can't they take an interest in you?"

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, not with me."

"But I'm stating the truth." Riddle glances at him out the corner of dark eyes. "You are powerful, resourceful, and you don't follow conventional methods. You value teaching in practice rather than theories, making me wonder if you had been an Auror or a warrior."

Either has been the truth. Harry doesn't let his expression reveal anything. He may tell Albus to back down when the man hits too close to home, but the same doesn't apply to Riddle, not until he finds a way to nullify the blackmail. 

"Straight to point, aren't we? Although I did promise to play your game, don't hope me to slip up in my rage like last time," Harry tells the Slytherin sternly. "And don't think a similar stunt will succeed."

"We both know I don't have to, don't we, professor?" Riddle smirks. With mischief sparkling in eyes he cancels the glamour. 

Harry's heart quickens. How he hopes it's due to guilt or repulsion and not the contrary feelings. 

"My rule is fair." Riddle beholds Harry's darkened gaze with a sweet smile. "Let us make an oath. I'll ask questions, and while you can choose not to answer, each answer shall only contain truth. I will stop each time after you give three of them." 

Harry considers him. Although he dislikes following Riddle's rules, he also knows with the Slytherin's threat hanging over his head he won't have much room to disagree. There are ways around the oath though. Similar to a speech under veritaserum, Harry can always answer truthfully without revealing the whole truth. There's no way Riddle has overlooked this possibility, and yet he lends Harry a few free reigns. He must think he can get whatever he wants without cornering Harry.

'How arrogant,' Harry snorts. It suits him just fine. If he plays carefully, he can even turn this into his advantage. As he doesn't know what Riddle had seen in that legilimency, he may well use this interrogation as a chance to find out. From the questions Riddle asks, Harry will determine how much has the boy known and how many memories should be wiped out from Riddle's mind in the end. He hopes there will not be too many. He doesn't want to turn Riddle into a vegetable after all his hard work to maintain the timeline. In the mean time he can feed Riddle facts that will not deter the boy from his current goals. Harry much prefers not to use mass memory charms, especially on minors even if they are baby death eaters. Not to mention it will have a higher risk of attracting the Ministry's attention. 

"I hope you are sensible enough to not tell your friends." Harry looks sharply at the Slytherin. "You won't have the chance of gaining anything from me if whispers reach the Ministry. They won't allow a time traveler roaming freely on earth."

"I'm sure their lips are tight." Riddle eyes Harry's annoyance with amusement. "But don't worry. I won't allow them to lay their hands on you. I'm too fond of you to risk a single possibility for you to be taken away."

'For now' is what left unsaid. What will happen when Riddle decides he gets bored? Harry holds no illusion. He needs to get out of this mess before that. Or he can find a way to seal Riddle's lips—

"Oh I almost forgot." 

Harry's train of thoughts is interrupted as Riddle speaks up, in a tone suggesting he remembers clearly what he is about to say. 

"I did promise you a reappearance, didn't I? Make the oath, and as I've promised—" the smile on the delicate features turns suggestive and tantalizing—"I'll bring you unfathomable pleasures."

Harry has to steady himself with a pinch on his thigh. There are so many reasons he shouldn't take this bargain. He has a family; he shouldn't consider unfaithfulness to his wife. He is a professor; he shouldn't engage in illicit acts with a minor ten years younger than him. Riddle has killed a girl and is on the way to become a mass murderer, so how can he look at the boy with anything but revulsion? 

Yet memories emerge on the surface—the moans and screams, the struggles under his grip, the convulsing muscles and flailing legs, and the tears in the eyes that looked at him. There's a bulge under his robe, and Harry is ashamed. All of his previous thoughts and anguish flooding out like a tsunami suffocate him. 

He is ashamed of his perverse wanton, that another being's pains and cries, even if they are his mortal enemy's, turn him on so much. He is ashamed of his selfishness, that he is willing to sit by and watch tragedies unfold all for the birth of his son. Most of all, Harry is ashamed that he has failed to become the good man everyone expects. He has deluded himself for so long. He has thought a family would help, but instead it now becomes part of the problem that is driving him mad. 

And Riddle— _the damn boy_ —stares at him in undisguised curiosity and fascination. His magic is curling around Harry's thrusting and snarling one, trying to coax more out of Harry's control. Harry refuses to repeat his mistake. 

"Are you that desperate for a fuck?" Harry growls, glaring at the boy. "Why don't you flaunt your slutty arse before the entire school then? I'm sure someone will appreciate a free whore."

Riddle scowls at him, grip wavering as emotions unsteady. Good. Harry seizes the chance and snatches his magic out of Riddle's clutch. 

"I'm helping you." There is irritation in Riddle's voice. "Instead of a thank you I would receive such rude comments."

"I don't know what kind of help you are deluding yourself with." Harry rubs at his throbbing temple. The wind will help him to cool down. "I'm certain I don't need it."

"But you need it," Riddle states with conviction. Harry grits teeth and stands his ground, suppressing the urge to slap the teen as Riddle steps closer. "I had sensed your floundering in your magic. You were restless, entangled in doubts and shames, unable to accept your want and need. I waited because I thought it was better for you to realize yourself, but your resistance surprised me. You would rather let your magic struggle in pain than recognize your truths, so I came up to see you. I couldn't keep waiting."

Riddle now stands directly in front of him, only a few inches away. Harry feels humidity brought by warm breaths. He sees constellations reflected in dark brown eyes. 

"Can't you see, professor? You are shackled, by chains people put on you in the names of conscience and moral. They use social norms to restrict others and call themselves good, while condemn anyone who doesn't follow the rules evil. Yet there's no good or evil. Morals are merely means to control the weaklings. But you are not weak, aren't you?" Riddle's fingers, pale and slender, are lifted up to hover in the air beside Harry's face. "Can't you feel now, that your magic wants to break free? Don't you know how beautiful you was that day when you let it free?" 

The smile on Riddle's face can well be compared to that of Lucifer's when luring Michael to fall. "Let me help you, dear professor, to break the shackles, to metamorphose."

 _Metamorphose_. To what? _A feral beast, a wild creature,_ Riddle had called him. Harry doesn't want to admit, and yet he fears. He remembers after Riddle's blackmailing, how in his anger the urge to see Riddle suffer, to make the boy pay was irresistible. He still wants them. Now as he stands face to face with Riddle it takes all his self restraint to not smash the teen's head into a pillar and fucks into the bloodied mouth until spills. But if Harry keeps indulging himself, what will become of him in the end? He has already realized he is not the saint people like to think. He doesn't want to fall lower. 

_People are not defined by who they are born with but who they choose to become._

Harry clutches Albus's words like a lifeline. It doesn't matter if he is not as fundamentally good as he has thought. He has embraced friendships and love. He has decided to become a father. He walked away from Voldemort's temptation in his first year. He can walk away from the monster in his heart now. 

"No," Harry answers decisively. "No matter how many times you ask, my answer will be the same. I'll make the oath, but I won't take your offer."

"How curious..." Riddle tilts his head. He looks unperturbed by Harry's rejection. Quite the contrary, the captivation and amazement in his eyes only grow. "It's clear what your heart and magic desire, and yet you choose to deny it. What a contradiction and confusion you are."

"Better be a contradiction than a monster," Harry bits out. "Of course you wouldn't understand."

Riddle doesn't seem to mind the jab. "As I've said, shackles, I care little about them. I indeed don't understand why you care so much, but it only makes the chase more appealing, don't you think?" 

They hold each other's gaze in a combat of will. Neither backs down. Riddle's aura tinctures the air, weaving a cobweb with sweet and dangerous promises, and Harry is trying his best to quell his stirring magic down.

"I wonder how will I crack you. I wonder when will you snap." The way Riddle looks at him, playfully and expectantly yet with painfully plain cruelness, boils Harry's blood. 

"I'd like to see you try." Harry bares his teeth. Although he says with all the resolutions he can manage, his mind is already betraying him with conjured images. 

_How he wants to leave more bruises on the smooth skins, until every inch of alabaster turns black and blue. How he wants to hear the wails and cries, to see the trimmed nail ruined and bloody after scratching too hard on the ground. How he wants to close his grip around the pale neck again, around the 'collar', to watch dark eyes widen in surprise then fear, to feel Riddle's panic when the boy realizes Harry isn't planning to lift his strength, not until the body underneath him becomes limp and lifeless. Maybe if Riddle begs prettily he will consider mercy, and the things he will do to the boy—_

Harry stops himself. He is troubled, extremely troubled. He knows despite his determination he won't hold forever in Riddle's undaunted chase. He doesn't understand Riddle just as Riddle is confused by him. What does the boy want to gain in his pursuit? To what degree is he influenced by the potion? Does Riddle think he will be able to control Harry after morphing him into a monster? Hasn't the teen ever heard the story of Frankenstein? 

'It doesn't matter,' Harry thinks. He hasn't understood why Voldemort broke his soul into pieces and ruined his body and mind in dark rituals. He hasn't understood why a genius like Riddle would throw all of his potentials away for immortality. 

He doesn't care. If Riddle wants to destroy himself then let him. Harry won't be dragged down into the abyss alongside him. 

He will cut ties with Riddle before that. 

As he parts ways with the Slytherin, newly made oath clouding his magic, Harry contemplates if taking Albus's suggestion will be a lesser evil. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be in Tom's POV. As I said before, Tom is a very hard and troublesome character to write. I hope my interpretation of him will do him justice.

**Author's Note:**

> Now I decide to continue this, and I edited some punctuations in the first chapter. I'm not an expert in English so please feel free to point out if there are any obvious mistakes.


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